Tote, Meet Adam
by namewithheld
Summary: a bizarro, wacky story in which Tote a.k.a. me meets Adam and gives him some not so friendly advice about Joan.


Title: Tote, Meet Adam

Author: Tote

Genre: humor/romance

Rating: pretty PG, as always

A/N: well, this is pretty whacky and might not even make much sense but it sure as hell was fun to write. Like any girl that watches the show, (or watched thanks to those CBS bastards) I've had my Adam daydreams, but they've always been cut short by the thought: no way, he's Joan's. Which is pretty messed up, even for me. Anyway, this was written for fun but I felt like submitting it anyway. It's set in a fictional universe where instead of moving to Holland when I was four, I moved to Arcadia and a universe where Adam, Joan and even Bonnie, actually exist. Review and leave me your therapist's number. 

I lean back against my desk and feel its edge dig into my thighs. Around me, the class is in chaos. Not a single person has their book open and paper airplanes fly through the air like bullets.

The substitute, a middle-aged gray-haired woman with a tired, lined face and the smell of someone who owns a few too many cats, simply sits back in her chair, surrendering to the will of the students.

I frown, bored with my friends and my life and my school and the tasteless gum in my mouth and annoyed by my former boyfriend making out with my former best friend a row ahead of me, in plain sight.

Slipping a strand of my thick, dark hair behind my ear, I glance absently toward the row of windows that overlook the playground and feel a shock go through me, flip-flopping in my stomach: a desperate attractive boy in a sleepy, slightly off-beat way is standing there, looking at me and looking sorry.

I glance over at my busy ex-boyfriend with an embarrassed blush but I grin and shrug at the unknown toque-wearing boy, because acting like bad things are a joke to me is my thing. It usually works. But this boy, with his light hazel eyes that seem to look past my jeans and t-shirt and into my heart, doesn't look fooled.

"Hey…" I say, bizarrely drawn to him for some reason. I take a step toward him, weaving through and past the rows of desk. "…I'm Tote."

He smiles, not mockingly, but surprised and maybe curious. "Tote?"

I laugh, despite myself and the abuse I've suffered from my nickname. The boy laughs with me and the sound is wonderful, like music. "It's really something else. But it's what people call me."

He nods, eyes shining in a way that seems strangely angelic. "I'm Adam."

"Adam…" I let the name roll over my tongue, tasting it: it's familiar. He reminds me of someone. "Good name," I add, for something to say. "God, I feel almost sorry for the sub, don't you?"

"Yeah. I think she fell asleep." He nods to her and I look. Her chest is going slowly up and down and her eyes are shut.

Giggling, I turn back to Adam. But to my surprise, he looks suddenly sad. Not just ordinary, teenage angst my-parents-are-insane-and-my-dog-just-died kind of sadness. But deep, bone-chilling, heart-breaking sudden sadness that seems to come off him in waves.

"Are you okay?" I say, feeling frantic for no reason. Tears prick in my eyes: I cry at the drop of the hat.

"I cheated on my girlfriend." He looks at me, suddenly scowling. He seems to be daring me to have a reaction: not the polite, oblique kind of reaction, but a genuine one.

"Did you love her?" I sit on the desk behind me, frowning at him and feeling confused, wrong-footed. He seemed so ridiculously wonderful a moment ago and now he turns out to be exactly like my goddamn boyfriend.

Then I see his eyes. They truly are windows into his soul. They fill with tears, tears that cling and tremble upon his lashes and his mouth twists bitterly. He bites his bottom lip and closes his eyes, chest heaving as he seems to suppress an emotion so big, it makes his hands shake. I watch, amazed at the sheer volume of his response.

"Yes," he says simply and the one word contains a world of words and a deep, strong, undying conviction. Yes, as if affirming that the world was indeed round. Yes, there is reason somewhere in the madness. Yes, I'm not gone completely. Yes, there is a God.

I look down at my boots, unable to handle his gaze on me. Behind me, I hear Ralph (my ex-boyfriend) laugh loudly and it occurs to me, somewhat randomly, that he didn't love me or even like me very much. And then, I realized with little shock: I never liked/loved him either. Adam's eyes seemed to bring that home for me.

"Then why?" I look up at him, paralyzed almost. I'd been so angry when Ralph cheated on me…and we'd been nothing, just a high-school thing. How could someone who loved a girl as much as Adam did—the depth of which I only glimpsed in his truthful eyes—betray her?

Adam looks at me, frowning thoughtfully as if we know each other, as if this is a normal conversation to be having, as if it's not rude of me to ask. "We used to be…this thing, this…entity. Her and me and nothing but faith." He smiles and I wipe away the tear that rolls down my cheek. "Then it changed. I felt like she was slipping away, every day and every time we got close to—to getting back the way we were…something happened."

He sighs deeply. "Then, the thing with Bonnie…"

"Bonnie?" I repeat, scowling. "Bonnie from art? Bonnie the—"

He holds up his hand to stop me. I nod, but I'm still disbelieving—Bonnie, that's nasty.

"So then what?" I ask. "You just…threw it away?"

"No!" he looks angry, but not at me. He pounds his fist against the windowsill behind him. I feel the attention of the class begin to turn to our conversation but I ignore it and so does he. "It happened. Suddenly. And I thought…it was just, _nothing. _I felt _nothing._ And I told myself that that meant it didn't matter, that I could keep it separate."

"You were wrong," I snap, glaring at him.

"I know." He looks at me; those eyes so filled with sorrow that I feel forced to stop glaring.

"So?" I stare at him, impatient.

"So…?" he frowns at me, uncomprehendingly. "So, I…" he swallows, looking down. "So I lost her." He keeps his head down as he wipes his sleeve across his eyes, as if I wouldn't see.

"You say that like it's final," I whisper, exasperated and emotional, riding high on some feeling of loyalty that I can't really justify. It's not like I _know _him. Or her. If I was smart, I'd try to get with this beautiful, tender boy—but the idea of it, despite my attraction to him is so wrong. He's _supposed_ to be with this other girl. I'm not sure why, but I know it.

"It is." He stares at me.

I breathe out, containing my anger. "You mean you haven't done anything to win her back?"

He looks at me, matching my anger: there's fire in his eyes. "She's not the kind of girl you _win._"

I frown thoughtfully. "Then earn her."

"What?"

I look at him, smiling with the _eureka _feeling. "You heard me. Earn her. If you love her, and the…thing, you two had, was so amazing before and she's still amazing—then it's you, who changed. You who cheated. So you have to go back to being…" I shrug, rolling my eyes, "pre-Bonnie Adam."

I expect him to scoff or laugh or tell me it's none of my business. "How?" he looks at me, desperate, as if I know.

But I can't disappoint him: I fumble, thinking wildly. "Apologize to everyone you've hurt with this. Including," I make a face, "Bonnie, and you know, whoever. But talk is cheap. Start doing something that will make you feel proud of yourself again. Self-pity isn't attractive on anyone, even you. You can't just sit back and expect her to come running."

"No, no," he shakes his head wildly, thinking, "No, but I never expected her to _ever…_"

"But she will." I smile at him, totally committed. "If she feels a fraction of what you do…"

Both grinning, we get to our feet. He's kind of out-of-breath, still sad, but somehow hopeful. I feel really good if I helped but that look in his eyes. "Okay!" he says, smiling at me, "Okay, so I…" he glances at the sub, still asleep. "I got to go."

And he almost runs out.

"Wait!" I call after him and he stops, turning. By now the whole class is watching us. "What's her name?"

He smiles and it touches his eyes, and it's the icing on the cake for anyone who didn't already know he was madly in love with her. "I call her Jane."

And he's gone.

"Adam and Jane," I shake my head, wondering where I've heard those names before and why they fit together so perfectly.


End file.
